


The Stories We Tell When We Aren't Telling Stories

by joyeusenoelle



Category: Indexing - Seanan McGuire
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 17:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5464283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyeusenoelle/pseuds/joyeusenoelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't an office Christmas party, except when it might be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stories We Tell When We Aren't Telling Stories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silly_cleo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silly_cleo/gifts).



**Part 1: Demi**

Demi looked around and frowned. She’d brought in the little fir, sparsely-decorated and brightly-lit, that now sat behind the refreshments table. On the table stood a bottle of rum and one of bourbon, partly empty, next to a punch bowl full of egg nog. (Demi hadn’t touched either bottle, but she knew they’d come in full.) Perry Como was wrapping up “Home for the Holidays” on Demi’s iPod and someone else’s speakers.

She made her way over to Andy, who was chatting with one of the dispatchers. “Andy,” she said, never taking her eyes off Henry and Sloane, “I think something’s happening. And I think it’s my fault.”

\---

Demi had come in two mornings earlier to find a note on her desk. “The Director has authorized the use of a period of time from 4 PM until 6 PM on Friday for socializing among Bureau staff and, if applicable, their adult companions. It is not expected that work will be completed during this time. Alcohol and music are permitted within the Bureau during this time.”

“So, a Christmas party,” she’d said.

Andy had shaken his head as he passed. “Nope. Not a Christmas party. Not a holiday party, not a party of any kind. It’s a period of time set aside for socializing.”

“Director doesn’t like parties, huh?”

“Nothing like that. Socializing is general. Could be anything. But things happen at parties -- especially holiday parties, especially Christmas parties, especially _office_ Christmas parties. Recognizable things. So we don’t have them.”

Demi laughed. “So we have a Christmas party--”

Andy shushed her. “Semi-annual social function.”

She snorted. “But we don’t call it that because we’re afraid it might follow Christmas-party tropes?”

Andy shrugged. “Call it superstition. But you’ve had the Story’s hooks in you over something as little as flute lessons. Are you really going to tell me you think it’s not going to latch onto a Christmas party in this place?” He raised an eyebrow as he moved off toward his own desk.

“I call it paranoia.” She sat down at her desk and typed a note out to her roommate. _I’ll be home late on Friday,_ it said. _Office Christmas party._

***

**Part 2: Sloane**

“Don’t fucking touch it,” Sloane snarled.

“You can’t exactly go to a hospital,” Henry said, lifting Sloane’s foot up onto a borrowed desk chair. “You’ve definitely sprained it - might even be a broken bone.”

“I can handle it myself.” Sloane drained the plastic Solo cup of its egg nog and bourbon, and then crushed the cup in her hand as Henry tested the ankle. “I _said_ \--”

“I heard you, Sloane, but I also know you. You’re just going to walk on this until it falls off and then I’ll have to buy you a wheelchair. And imagine how ridiculous you’ll feel rolling out to incidents for the rest of your life.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” Henry pressed into the ankle and Sloane hissed. “Definitely sprained. I have a bandage in my desk, hang on.”

Sloane tossed the cup onto the desk beside her and fumed. It had been the dumbest possible way to get hurt. She’d just finished slipping apple schnapps into Henry’s egg nog - a practical joke, nothing more, and only enough to get the taste in Henry’s mouth - when Henry had turned around to say something. Sloane had stepped back, her heel had twisted, and she’d found herself on the floor with her ankle turning clever colors.

“Okay,” Henry said, unrolling the elastic bandage. “Hold still. This is going to hurt.” She began wrapping the bandage around Sloane’s ankle; Sloane was sure she was imagining that Henry was making it tighter than it needed to be, but held onto the bitter thought anyway, tasting it and savoring it. Fucking Henry, vampire-pale bloody-lipped soot-haired inhumanly-beautiful Henry.

Henry who looked up as she secured the bandage’s clasps, met Sloane’s gaze, and smiled. “That should at least hold it steady.” She pulled her eyes away and glanced at the cup on the desk. “Do you want me to get you another cup?”

_Anything to get you away._ “Yeah,” Sloane said. “Egg nog and bourbon, heavy on the bourbon.”

“You got it.” And Henry was gone again. 

Sloane looked around the room. A few couples were dancing - Perry Como had just come on the speakers, singing that damn “Home for the Holidays” song that Sloane loathed - and Demi, she noticed, was looking anxious. “Whatever,” Sloane muttered. “New girl at the office party - always nervous.”

“What was that?” Henry asked, holding out another red Solo cup. Her fingers brushed Sloane’s and Sloane shivered.

“Nothing,” Sloane said. “How’s your brother?”

“Fine. Just started dating another teacher at the school. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Sloane drank some egg nog - not heavy enough on the bourbon. Henry sat beside her and watched the party. “Listen - thanks for taking care of my ankle. I’m fine.”

Henry shook her head. “You’re not going to be able to walk on it, and I’m not going to leave you alone to while the rest of us have a good time.”

“Afraid I’ll take my revenge for leaving me out?”

“No, I just...” Henry sighed. “I like your company.”

Fucking Henry. “Yeah, well--”

“And I know you like mine too.”

“You’re just saying that because you want an excuse to not have to mingle.”

“Nah.” She set her hand on Sloane’s knee, and Sloane went stiff. But after a moment, she set her hand on top of Henry’s, and neither of them moved away.

***

**Part 3: Demi**

“See?” Demi said. “It’s an office Christmas party thing. Have too much to drink, hook up with someone you’d normally never hook up with, regret it in the morning. We have to stop it before the Story takes hold.”

Andy laughed. “Now who’s paranoid?”

“I brought in the tree! It’s my music playing! I’m the one who made it a Christmas party! This is going to tear the team apart and it’s all my fault.”

“They’re just holding hands. It’s not like they’re taking each other’s clothes off.”

Demi flushed. “Look, even if it wasn’t a Christmas party, Sloane still twisted her ankle and wants to be able to walk again - that’s Little Mermaid, isn’t it?”

Andy sighed. “If it bothers you, go check on them. If they’re really under the Story’s sway, we can separate them until the function’s over.”

“All right. You pay attention in case I need your help.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Demi rolled her eyes and made her way over to Sloane’s desk. The pair were just sitting there, hands lightly clasped on Sloane’s knee, each holding a red plastic cup in her free hand. “Hey, you two,” Demi said, trying to hide her nervousness.

“Hey,” said Sloane. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Just… thought I’d come over and say hello. Make sure everything was okay.”

“Probably just a sprain,” Henry said. “I’ll keep an eye on it and see if it gets worse.”

Demi swallowed. “So you’re... both feeling like yourselves? No ill effects or anything?”

Sloane’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah, should we not be?”

“Well, I thought -- I mean, with the Christmas party--”

“Function,” Sloane interrupted.

“Yeah, right. Only -- I brought in the tree and music, because I thought Andy was being paranoid, but it’s kind of a Christmas-party trope for people to hook up where they otherwise wouldn’t--” Her eyes went to their clasped hands. “--and with Sloane invoking Little Mermaid and giving the story another hook, well...”

Both Sloane and Henry looked at Demi for a moment, and then Henry smiled. “You think that because I’m holding my friend’s hand, and because she slipped and turned her ankle, that we’re succumbing to the Story?”

“Well, I mean -- I just wanted to be cautious!” Demi’s cheeks burned. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You did the right thing,” Henry said. “Thank you for checking on us. We’re fine. I know how the Story feels and it’s nowhere near us.”

“Besides,” said Sloane, now grinning at Demi, “if Henry and I were really doing the Christmas-party hookup, it’d look a lot more like this.” And she leaned over and kissed Henry.

***

**Part 4: Sloane**

Henry’s lips tasted like the ghosts of apples. They felt cold, but not a devouring cold -- the comfort of a cool cloth on a feverish forehead. They were rigid with surprise for a moment, but quickly relented, and Sloane found herself surprised that Henry was playing along so willingly.

Demi cleared her throat and Sloane parted from Henry, and only then did it occur to her that maybe neither of them had actually been playing along. She looked at Henry’s eyes, which were fixed on hers. 

Sloane cleared her throat. “Anyway. That’s what it would have looked like.”

“Yes,” Henry agreed, and set her drink down on the desk.

She looked down at her foot, then back up at Henry. “I, um. I’m going to need some help getting home, I think.”

“I can give you a ride, if you want.”

“Is now good?”

Henry stood and helped Sloane to her good foot. “Lean on me,” she said, and Sloane did willingly. Together they made their way toward the back doors.

Sloane heard Demi’s voice as the doors closed behind them. “Okay, I get it! Very funny!”


End file.
